Holding On
by taliba
Summary: How do you deal when your best friend gets sick? And what happens when you are told to let go? (Rated PG because of a slight sexual nature)


Disclaimer: I don't own any of the RENT characters mentioned. They are Jonathan and Co.'s. Don't sue. I have no money anyway. You wouldn't get much of a payment, so it's useless. Thanks.

A/N: Okay. This'll be a long author's note, cause I'm the author and I can do whatever I want *grins*. This is my first RENTfic, and I'm almost sure it's not up to par with any of the other RENTfic here, but I try. It's M/R. Deal with it. I probably have to owe that to Kait (rookie2k), because I just read all of her stuff and I fell in love with her writing. So, I tried it out. I hope you like it. Enjoy!

Holding On

by taliba 

I paced around the hospital waiting room. 'He was hurt. He was dying. He was dead?' I didn't know. I had been called almost abruptly from filming by a hospital attendant telling me my "friend" was in the hospital. When I had inquired 'who was hurt?' and had found out that it was Roger, any harsh feeling for the guitarist escaped. I grabbed my jacket and my scarf and hurried down to St. Luke's. I was waiting the doctor. He or she would tell me what had happened. I hated hospitals. Their white walls had reminded me of an asylum and it smelled terrible. Ammonia mixed with antiseptic. Everything here made me feelsick.

A young Hispanic woman approached me. I was briefly plagued by thoughts of Mimi and if she knew about Roger's…whatever, until she spoke, "Mark Cohen?"

I gulped, "Yes. How's Roger? What happened? Is he alright?"

The woman smiled softly, "I'm Dr. Flores and I will be Mr. Davis' main doctor. You're friend is HIV positive right?"

I nodded. 'Oh god. Don't tell me that it has to do with Roger's AIDS.'

Her smile wavered a bit, "Well. Mr. Cohen." She took in a sigh; "Roger has cytomegalovirus pneumonia." She noticed my blank stare, "Which, in plain non-medical, non-stuffy terms means that he has a type of pneumonia that's often common in people who areHIV positive, and people on chemotherapy. It's quite common and if Roger had a completely healthy immune system, he'd be fine. But the fact is that he doesn't have one**..**."

I stopped her, "He'll be alright, _right?" _

She sighed again, "I'm afraid not. The thing with CMV pneumonia is that with those healthy immune systems like yours, they'd be able to beat this with no problem. But with some people CMV can be quite life threatening."

I sat down quickly. I couldn't take any of this. Not one bit. He could be dying. He was the strong one. He survived AIDS and April and everything. He couldn'tsurvive just one infection? "So…he's…dying?" The word tasted bitter in my mouth. I hated myself for saying it.

"I'm afraid so. We have him on some medication but it just does not seem to be helping. I'm not sure how long he has. My guess would be anywhere from three to nine days, that is, if nothing gets worse. If his health continues to fail**,** then I must say less."

Any apprehension I had before about keeping to myself and detaching myself from emotions fell, "I…I…No! He can't be dying. He's…ROGER! I love him. He can't die. He _shouldn't_ die." I started crying and Dr. Flores placed her arm around my shoulder. 

"Mr. Cohen. I'm very sorry to bring you this news. What Roger needs is to be around people that he loves and that love him. Would you like to go see him now?" she asked me, gesturing towards double doors.

I felt like yelling 'No! I don't want to see him! I don't want to see a dying person. I don't want to see a dying person especially when he is my friend…my best friend!' but I nodded numbly. 

"Follow me."

*-*-*

She led me through the corridors but my mind was far from this New York hospital. She didn't know that _I _wasthe reason that Roger was lying on a hospital bed. I couldn't believe that we had gotten in that fight. I didn't even know _why _we were fighting just that we were. I said something mean - horrible and cruel and vicious**-** and Roger left. He didn't take anything with him. He just slammed the door to reiterate how upset he was with me. It was cold outside, snow mixed with rain**,** and I thought Roger would have enough sense to find some type of shelter. But, as I could tell, he didn't. Damnit! If it weren't for me, we wouldn't have been fighting. And if we weren't fighting, he wouldn't have left. He would've been healthy and with me. But now he was dying in some cold, unfeeling building.

"Mr. Cohen. Roger's in here." Dr. Flores opened the door to Room 131. She revealed a face I was used to seeing, but it was so gaunt and colorless that I hardly recognized him. He didn't look like Roger. Roger wasn't that thin or pale. Roger's hair didn't look that unkempt. But it was Roger's smile. He had been staring at the wall but when the door opened he turned and his smile brightened. I didn't want to admit that this ghost was Roger, but I knew that it was. I had to be strong. I couldn't be sugar coating this to make it better. I needed to be here for Roger.

"Mark!" Roger croaked.

He'd scored a single room and I couldn't help thinking, 'Do they give all terminal cases privacy because they know that they won't be here in two months tops?' I willed my mind to go back to Roger, "Hey Rog," I said with a faint smile; "You look…" I tried to find an apropos word, "good!" 

Roger's eyes narrowed and I could immediately tell that he was still the same Roger I knew, "And you're a damn liar. Admit it. I look comparable to shit."

I realized that I hadn't had a chance to apologize for the fight. And when-if Roger died, I didn't want him to still be upset with me, "Roger…I'm sorry about last night." I said, sitting down on the chair that was next to his bed.

Roger shrugged it off, "Don't apologize. You still remember what the argument was about?"

I had to confess it and be truthful, "No?" I offered.  
"Then it can't be that important." Roger's leaned back into the small pillow. "Have you heard from Maureen and Joanne in San Francisco?"

"No. I called them at their hotel from the hospital. Maureen answered and she sends her and Joanne's love. She says she wishes she could be here. And that when she comes back she said she'll perform aget-well monologue for you," I didn't feel like adding on that when she got back it would probably be too late.

Roger might have been be humoring me, because he added in a deadpan tone, "Ooh. I can't wait." Roger coughed loudly. It was a dry, scratchy cough and his entire frame shook when it rumbled through his body. I hopped up from my seat to fetch a glass of water for him but Roger gestured to a pitcher and cups on a side table and poured a glass for himself. 

A morbid curiosity shot through me. I wondered if Roger knew his…fate? If he had, he seemed optimistic. Or maybe he was in denial. How could he be so naïve?

Change of subject, "Didn't Dr. Flores remind you of-" 

Roger finished my thought for me, "Mimi?" He sounded like he was going to cry. Hell…he looked like he was going to cry. 

'Damnit Cohen! I can't believe you just said that. How stupid could you be to let those words come out of you're mouth?' "God, Roger, I wasn't thinking-I didn't mean to mention her." Mimi had left him three months ago. She told Roger that she had fallen out of love with him and that she needed to leave. 

"It's okay." Roger assured me. "She needed to follow her heart. That's what made me fall in love with her in the first place." He smiled, staring out a small window. "I wonder what she would think if she saw me here. Big, invincible guitarist stuck in bed because of some damn infection." 

*-*-*

A week passed and the big, invincible guitarist was still stuck in his bed because of some damn infection. The only thing was, it wasn't just "some damn infection". It was "the damn infection". It was the thing that was controlling my every waking moment. I didn't sleep in my bed for four days straight because I'd just collapse on the couch when I'd come back from the hospital and be prepared to do the entire charade the following morning. The attendants there saw me at room 131 every minute that I could be there. I hardly left his side. People trickled in one by one. Roger's mom came down and stayed in our apartment. She hardly spent the amount of time I spent there but she couldn't take it emotionally. She couldn't take the pain of having to see her son die. Well, nobody asked me if I could take the pain of seeing my best friend die. I guess I was just supposed to be able to handle it. But I couldn't. I couldn't bear to see Roger like that.

I walked down the hallway to Roger's room. It was like those routes home from school. You could walk it even when you were in a dazed state of mind. And I was dazed when I heard footsteps thump from behind me. 

"Mark Cohen!" 

I turned around and saw Dr. Flores hurrying up to me. "Yes?"

"I need to talk to you. Coffee?"

"I'd prefer tea. But I'm sure they have either at the cafeteria," I responded back with a hint of annoyance. 

We sat on two stools at the cafeteria. If she had anything bad to tell me about Roger I didn't want to hear it. I would get up from the seat, and throw a tantrum. I would run out of the hospital. This entire thing was wearing me down. I felt as if I would break with any wrong word said to me. Roger was the one in the hospital bed but I thought my mind could easily be as weak and weary as any one of the bodies there.

Dr. Flores placed her elbows on the table, "We need to talk about Roger."

My breath was caught in my throat, "What about him?" I stuttered.

She smiled at me. I hated that. I wish I could rip that smile off of her. She shouldn't be smiling. "Your friend is quite a fighter, isn't he?"

I nodded. Roger had been through a lot. He'd fight until it was all over.

"His health is fading, Mr. Cohen. We thought that he wouldn't last for this week. It's not uncommon but some people stay alive because they are waiting for someone or something. They will themselves to live because they can't peacefully go unless this…something happens. Could he be needing something from anyone of his friends or family?"

I wasspeechless. I tried to form coherent thoughts; "Well…some of his friends aren't here. Like Maureen and Joanne. But he wouldn't be waiting for them. And Collins already stopped by a few days ago. And-Mimi…oh god…no. He's over her."

Dr. Flores' lips formed a straight line. She was concerned with Roger's well being. She couldn't…shouldn't have been getting caught up in a patient's life. Doctors just bring bad news. They don't bring sympathy. "Who exactly is this Mimi?"

"Roger's ex-girlfriend," I said quickly, brushing it off, "But, she shouldn't be brought into this." Tears started to fall. I couldn't help it! I had been so strong for the past week and all I needed to do was cry. I needed to not have this responsibility on me. I needed the life I had a year ago. Roger was still with Mimi and we were one group. Sure I was outcasted but I was used to it! It was normal and simple and I wanted it back. 

Dr. Flores got up from where she was sitting and placed her hand on my shoulder, "Shushh…." She murmured. When I had swallowed enough tears that I could breath properly again she stood in front of me and said, "Now, listen. If I could change Roger's health, believe me, I would. I'd do it for every patient of this hospital. But I can't change that. As rough as it may sound, it's gonna happen. The only advice I can give you is to go talk to Roger. Let him know you're there for him. And assure him that it's all right to let go. He's in a lot of pain with his shortness of breath and the coughing. Patients who usually have CMV suffer from something called hypoxemia. That's when the oxygen level in the blood rapidly decreases. It's fatal and quick. So go talk to Roger. Tell him how much he means to you."

Words could barely get out of my mouth, "I…I," I gave into her words, "I'll try, Dr. Flores."

*-*-*

"Roger?" I asked tentatively before entering the room. 

He was sitting in his bed looking blankly at the wall. There wasa delusional smile on his face. I hated it. I wanted Roger back. 

"Roger!?" I said louder, a hint of panic obvious in my tone.

Roger turned his head, "Mark," He responded hoarsely. God. I couldn't see him like this. His voice was barely audible, and it sounded like it hurt him, actually physically **hurt **him to talk. As much as it looked like it hurt him to talk, this didn't stop him. Roger spoke again, "It's really odd. You know? Before this, I could go on in life and not give two shits about anybody's life other than yours, Mimi's, Collins', Angel's, Maureen's and Joanne's. There could've been people dying daily and did I care about them? No. And now that I'm…" I thought he wouldn't say it. I thought he wouldn't say-"dying, I think I became a lot more sympathetic."

"Roger," I sat down on the edge of the bed; "You're not dying."

Roger looked up at me with so much pain in his eyes. "Mark, don't sugar coat anything. You've done it all the time I've known you. You'd always make things sound more poetic than they need to be. Face the truth. For me?" Roger looked so innocent, so androgynous that I couldn't help but nod. 

"Lie down," Roger told me softly, scooting over to the edge of the bed. I obliged. We lay there for two minutes when I felt Roger kissing the back of my neck. 

Christ. This was new and…"Roger?"

Roger murmured something. 

"What are you doing?" I couldn't help but asking. I may have been ruining a beautiful moment, but I was in some type of shock. 

I got goosebumps when I felt Roger's breath on the back of my neck, "I spoke to Dr. Flores. She gave me some good advice. She said that she didn't know when I would see my friends or family again and to let them know about anything. I wanted to show you, and tell you how much I love you." A rattling sound came from his chest while he breathedin, "You've been such a friend to me. I've never really told you how much you mean to me. I regret that. I love you."

I turned so I could face Roger, "I…"

Roger placed a finger on my lips to shush me. "You might not understand. After Mimi left, I was so mentally fucked over that if I had the chance to do something bad, I would've. But you were there. I realized I had to go on, if it was for you. I regret I wasn't there for you when you needed me to be." 

I said softly, "I regret that we didn't take this friendship to another level."

Roger wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed me. His lips were soft but there was definite force behind them. His tongue probed my mouth like he was exploring it as well as these hidden feelings. We were so close on the bed that I felt his heart beat through the thin hospital paper dress. I would never hurt that heart. 

Roger kissed me on my forehead and told me, "You ought to close the door in case any workers wonder what's going on."

I closed the door. When I came back, I sat on the edge of the bed. I took Roger's hand and stroked his finger. Roger looked at me, and it seemed as though he was able to look **through** me. 

"Mark," He started.

"Yes?" 

"I need to tell you something," Roger said. 

My stomach dropped immediately. With a shaky voice I responded, "You know you can tell me anything."

"When I die, I want you to let go. I mean, I know how much Angel's death really hurt you. I need you to go on with your life. You need…no. You _deserve _more than to mope around. You need to let me know that you'll make your big movie. That you'll be happy. Because that's what you deserve. You deserve to be happy. You've been a great friend, Mark. You need to find some," His voice wavered with thoughts of his ineptitude, "…_better _friends. You need to promise that you'll let go." 

"I will," I said solemnly.

"Promise?" Roger reminded me so much of a little boy then. All I wanted to do was hold him in my arms and let him know that everything would be all right. But I couldn't do that. I couldn't lie to Roger right now.

"I promise." I released his hand and reached to touch his cheek but Roger's eyes bugged.

"Nononono…" Roger whispered, his eyes brimmed with tears.

"What?" I asked, panicked.

Roger started crying. He said softly, through his tears, "Not yet. Don't let go yet. I'm scared." 

"Of course you are." I took his hand back and wrapped it within my own palms. "It's okay to be scared honey." I bent down, and my cheeks touched his face. He was cold. And pale. Oh god. My lips met his and I kissed him. If words couldn't explain my feelings for him, that could try to. I was touching his soul. For once, I felt that we truly, truly connected. The barrier that separated the two boundaries disappeared. We melted together and there was nothing I wanted more than to be in his arms. 

Roger broke away for a second, and his voice carried to my ear, "I love you."

"I love you too. I'll miss you." Was the only response I could give back. 

Roger's hand went limp. His entire body did actually. No. Nonono. Not yet. I leaned back, and my fears were true. Roger lay on the hospital sheets with his eyes closed. I felt his heart. It wasn't beating. Christ. No. This couldn't be happening. My mind was active in thought. I didn't let go of his hand. I had to hold onto him just a bit longer. 


End file.
